Metroid: Origins
by TheChub509
Summary: Tragedy defines all heroes, and some never remember it. Some are raised to be great people, and some just are. Samus Aran was a child when her journey began, too young to do anything helpful when her home was burned to the ground. The Chozo believe children shouldn't be left to suffer, and took her home. Peace is the Chozo's way of life. It's not hers. Not by choice.
1. Chapter 1: fixed

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: OKAY, I finished everything that went wrong the first time I uploaded this FOUR MONTHS AGO. Sorry about that lag, I was busy writing the rest of it and university and a job and other nonsense. Didn't even realize things went wrong until about a month ago. Apologies. Well, here's the first story completely reconstructed from my memories.**_

 **METROID: ORIGINS**

 **Episode One**

 **Home**

A sign of welded metal, faded paint that welcomes visitors rests easy, swaying slightly in the breeze. WELCOME TO COLONY K-2L stands in the center of the landing bay, held up by a carving of a pickaxe, the symbol of a mining colony. The building behind the sign was wrecked, with a massive misshapen hole burned away and smaller holes littering the walls. Grounds had smears of blood going too or from the doorways. A ship was still smoldering, smoke billowing into the blue sky.

One figure jumps foward, moving with more energy than their compatriot. Standing atop debris, it declares with solemn words. "We're too late." An artificial speech permeates the silence of a dead town. The wind blew dust, a taloned hand and feathered arms cover the face. The cloaks, simple yet elegant in their design, obscures all other physical features, even sweeping the floor of their footprints.

The energetic figure jumps ahead to another building, walking on and gazing upon at a fallen deep space communications tower, surveying the damage, and looks at the skies, "Concealing themselves in a flare storm. Striking when radar is down. Destroying communications. Clearly the Zebesians have a new leader," he shakes his head.

The one walking the streets below is older, moving slower and stiffly over the debris. In one open taloned hand, unbothered, he holds an elevated orb, comprised of outputs and a single light atop the device. A continuous low tone hums from the device. The lower one speaks roughly, age apparent even through translation, "Keep searching for survivors, notify the Galactic Federation, then speculate on the Zebesian activities, Ruffled Wing." Jumping to the ground, the higher one, Ruffled Wing, stops and clucks, "Old Bird, you know if anyone were alive, they would be pulling their resources together right now, hiding someplace safe." Debris falls, a structure collapses and both Ruffled Wing and Old Bird look towards the collapse.

There a child stumbled, attempting to scale over the debris with a bucket of water. She grits her teeth and with wide eyed determination staggers over the debris and down to the floor. Splashing water, she reassert their grip before continuing on with the heavy load. Clothed in blue pajamas extending to her extremities, dirty blonde hair hangs unkempt and roots pale.

Old Bird points at the child, drawling out his words as the child pattered on, "Like that one." The child hears the translator's high pitched voice, stopping and turning towards the cloaked duo. Shock and stiffness unlike children, a moment of appraisal before a clatter of a discarded bucket marks their retreat.

Fleet feet traced the debris, hands merely tapping the ground as the child leaps and climbs with such speed the cloaked beings were quickly hidden from site. They're not gone though, the child looked around and looks up at building edges for pursuers. None present, the child continues fleeing at full speed, ducking under collapsed walls, shuffling from one pile of trash to hiding behind another doorway. Always, she looked up as she looks back, breathing harder retreating further. The buildings became more scorched and crumbled the further she ran. Feet skittering through a crushed living room. Through a window the child leapt and under rubble she crawls. Silent she waited and silence she heard. Eyes wide and sharp, the child emerges from cover and walks through a doorway with frightful caution.

An overturned table lays facing the doorway, blast marks lay scattered on and behind, a firefight happened here. Behind the table was blood. Dried. Smeared. The trail led away to the kitchen. There lay a man. Hands coddled, holding nothing, Cauterized holes were in his chest. He didn't get there himself. The woman next to him was scorched beyond recognition, screaming. She fell towards the kitchen. In the kitchen was a rifle, a cool grey steel with a pulsing yellow ion core.

The girl ran for the rifle. With both hands she hoists it, and charges to the standing wall away from the door. A chair was arranged like the table and the girl takes cover, aiming at the doorway. Every motion ceases, time stops as she stares at the door. Small huffs of breath mark the time.

A shadow passes. Another stops. It grows in size. Taloned fingers brace against the doorway, curling and a cloaked figure leans in. The child's eyes widen, tension mounting in her fingers. Carelessly, the figure struts into the room. It looks around. A beak points at the child, and the child shoots.

The child fires, her entire body straining to pull the trigger. It doesn't fire immediately, instead the energy rifle charges. Ruffled Wing doesn't have time to respond, barely turning to the girl when the rifle fires ionic plasma. The recoil knocks the girl off her feet, she didn't see the plasma impact, nor Ruffle Wing fall. The girl drops the gun, and scrambles about to get back behind the chair to shot again. Ruffled Wing lays, unmoving on the floor by the door. Breathing quickly, the girl grabs the gun and in tears, holds her breath.

Silence weighs down the room, tears held back until the child resumes breathing. The girl wants to cry, but can't. Shifting slightly, she stays there, aiming the rifle with a teardrop slipping away. Nothing moves until low whistles resonate into the room from outside. Birds talking. Now shadows cross the doorway.

Suddenly a hood is thrown into the room. The girl takes a sharp breath and another taloned hand braces itself to crawl through the doorway, and with caution, another creature enters the room. It's feet are thick pillars of armor plating atop clawed feet, patting the floor with taloned toes, long legs and long arms bend inside and a body the size of a thigh enters. The cloaks cover the body, but the face is all the girl sees. Back hunched, the neck stuck out and a bird's head looks around the room, eyes resting on the armed child.

The creature is a Chozo alien. The ancient avian race from deep space, creatures of myth and whispered folklore on the fringes of space. This Chozo with a head of faded black feathers and a thick beak stares down the child, with nonthreatening ease. The girl stares, crying freely. In silence, other Chozo enter the room and go to Ruffled Wing. They check on their friend. The girl tries to restrain her sobs, but soon collapses into the chair, embracing the rifle.

Old Bird looks beyond the crying girl, seeing the corpses on the floor. Blankets covered the mother, bandages wrapped around the father. Food dribbled on the floor by their lips. A heavy sigh escapes his beak. A grey feathered Chozo bird steps up to Old Bird. With a tap of the finger, Old Bird turns gently towards Gray Voice. Gray Voice shakes his head, silent.

A step forward, the girl looks up at the towering Old Bird as he approaches. Gently, he touches her dirty blonde hair, and falls to his knees before her. He cries, tears fall from his beady eyes, and the girl continues crying too, embracing the Chozo with one arm, the other still holding the rifle.

The gray feathered bird looks towards his breathren, as they sit in a circle around Ruffled Wings now covered body. Then looks to Old Bird. Gray Voice croaks unintelligibly to the sliver of sky through the doorway. The translator roots out in a mechanical voice "So rests one of our flock."

The girl buries her head into Old Bird, the translator startling her. Old Bird pets the girl, "Little Birdie." The girl looks at the Blue Translator ring on Old Bird's cloak, "Do you want to come with us?" The girl makes teary eye contact with teary Old Bird. Nose to beak. Old Bird makes a small whistle sound, the translator speaks, "Do you?" The child looks back at the two corpses, her parents. For a moment the child simply looks at the bodies, until she couldn't look any longer, smothering herself in Old Bird's robe, nodding. Gray Voice watches.

Outside, in the frame of the door was a nameplate of occupants of the house. Nearly all of the names are burnt off, only portions of the bottom board remain. Aran, Samus. Born five years ago.

"Let's go home."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

One hand holds a taloned palm, holding desperately in the dimly lite room. The other arm envelops the rifle, almost the length of the child. Samus Aran. A child in blue pajamas, eyes watching every movement with crisp blue intensity as the Chozo prepare themselves onboard the ship. Large, vulture headed creatures, arms as long as their legs and legs twice the length of their bodies. Her hand holds onto the Old Bird's hand, tiny and stubby in comparison to his long and thin fingers. . This one is a gentle giant, he cried with her for the other fallen bird before and her parents. The one Samus hit with daddy's rifle.

Samus holds the gun tighter. Tight enough to match the feeling in her chest. Still she watched the room, seeing the Chozo individually. Some were taller or squatter, all of them hunched over. There were four of them, the fifth holding her hand. They had the heads of vultures, large beaked with tufts of feathers around their neck. THeir bodies were naked beneath the clothing or robes, save a few with feathers their forearms, back or legs. Their eyes were separated by the beaks. A feather fell before Samus, Old Bird was watching her.

With a taloned finger, Old Bird taps the blue ring on his cloth. Another blue ring flashes around his own neck. Rolling his beak, the translator spoke. "Do you have a question, little bird?" Confronted, Samus couldn't speak. Her mouth opened fractions, but couldn't close. Instead she points at Old Bird, then to the door they had entered from, sealed now. Old Bird nods, the translator speaks, "We are heading home, now, to the Chozodia."

All the other Chozo turned to Old Bird and Samus. Foreign expressions on the alien faces, Samus hides behind Old Bird, unrelinquishing her grip. Old Bird pulls her to his side, before the eyes of others. Samus meets their gaze as the grayest Chozo, Gray Voice, steps closer, with purpose. This one activates a translator as well before speaking, gazing upon Samus. "... Do you really intend to do this, Old Bird?" Old Bird takes his hand away from Samus, and places them on the gray feathered fellow. "I have every intent to do so, Gray Voice."

Samus stands with a free hand where Old Bird left it, frozen. Gray Voice nods in acknowledgement. The ship rocks and settles, a green light flicks on above the door Samus pointed to earlier. Samus stares at the door, frozen. Old Bird brushes her shoulder, another Chozo opens the door. They all wait, watching her. Fearful, Samus steps forward. Beyond the door she steps out and looks around. Her fear vanishes, replaced with awe and wonder.

Old Bird comments "Welcome to Chozodia." Samus takes a deep breath.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The landscape was desolate, the remnants of forests, fires, mining and avalanches tear through the mountains. A river dwindled in its bed in the distance. Ships rested that were not native, purple and ugly, patchworks of construction with tails that resembles plated scales. The air itself was dreary, miserable. Smoke rose from a nearby building.

A sexless armor clad individual breathed a ragged, shaken breathe. Orange armor with a red chestplate almost camouflaged against the natural stone. The helmet completely enveloped the skull, but with a breathing apparatus from the ears to mouth. The left arm had a hand, clad in thin armor plating around fingers and palm. The right arm, however, sported an arm cannon of cool grey, yellow ion trails its rings. Shape smooth and cylindrical, the weapon extends beyond the length of a normal arm.

Another ragged breath as the enveloped Bounty Hunter views the landscape. The ship, the same hue of orange as the bounty hunter, bursts with message wrapped in static interference. The ID tag marked the Galactic Federation as the sender, marked almost fifteen years later. "...-ran, do you read me? ... repeat, do you…? Your mission… -fully find any… -ivors, salvage any… -you can, and er-cate the Space Pirate presence if at all possible. Do … copy?-"

The voice was familar, but not important. Reeling back, the Bounty Hunter turns towards the pathway leading into the complex. She marches in.

 ** _AUTHOR'S NOTE: Spent my last season at the university writing this and the following chapters. I didn't bother uploading anything because I wanted to edit everything to be more coherent. That said, expect things to pop up over the course of the next month and beyond. Still need to edit a lot of things and not get lost in Fallout 4 again._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Metroid: Origins**

 **Episode Two**

 **Sleep**

Iron footsteps echo through the empty stone hallways. Carved, smooth stones lay the ground, and walls carved to appear to be made of loose stone, gravel and cobble. Weighted silence echoes between each step as the Bounty Hunter enters the complex. Without glancing around at the many hallways and doorways, the orange armored individual walks straight with unwavering certainty towards an elevator shaft.

The door is gone. Blaster marks from a firefight scar the stonework around the door and into the elevator shaft. The Bounty Hunter looks over the edge. Damaged sheets of metal framework stick out from the railings on the side. The same situation in the direction going up; the elevator collapsed from the top floor. Animals seem to have taken refuge inside.

Turning back, the Bounty Hunter regards the hallway once before stepping into the shaft. A damaged camera watching returns to a standby position, unnoticed.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

A gasp of breath and Samus is awake. Panic at the unfamiliar room, Samus grabs the only device she recognizes; her father's rifle. The blue pajamas are gone, now she's in a white jumpsuit. She's alone in the clean room.

The room is white and metallic, a thin window stretches across the top of the wall allowing natural light inside. The bed is clean and blue, large and centered. Samus had climbed out and hid between the bed and wall opposite the doorway. The door was closed, a blue-field glows around its frame. A dresser, a flower vase, a bedside table, all lay quietly in the drab room.

Recognizing her surroundings, Samus stands up, rifle at the ready, still tense. Wary, she goes to a dresser and searches for clothes with one hand.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The camera shutter clicks. Gray Voice stands before the large monitor, alone, as a group of Chozo surround him. Old Bird pays them no mind as he watches and visibly relaxes.

"She's not waking in tears, anymore," Old Bird speaks with a translator, human English. A number of Chozo ruffle their feathers in discomfort. Gray Voice steps forward, hunched over more so than all others, and speaks in the native Chozo dialect, "Old Bird, the council has summoned you here for a reason, and you cannot blatantly ignore us for sake of a personal pet!"

Old Bird turns towards the council of Chozo, slowly, with a steely gaze upon each of the individuals. A number of the Chozo shift uncomfortably. He didn't respond. Gray Voice cawed in anger, the only response. Old Bird relaxes and gazes at Gray Voice. "She is no pet, and she won't be a project. She is an orphan, and she wishes to stay with us," he spoke with an almost pleasant tone through the translator. Gray Voice caws again, frustration apparent, "She belongs with her people!" "We will soon be dead."

Many Chozo are taken aback, a few even step away. Gray Voice himself stands straight, stunned. Old Bird walks towards them, still speaking through the translator, "We have lived a millennia, my flock. We have seen humanity rise and become the unquestionable rulers they are, in the same vein as the Zebesian ancestors that found us in the old texts and lead us through the cosmos. We helped many specii rise to space and seen more fall under their own legacies, yet humanity grows faster than we can stem. So I will raise one, and stem them so they could stem others, in time."

"You speak with foolishness on your tongue," accuses Gray Voice. Now they stood face to face, beak to beak. Tenderness creeps into the eyes of Old Bird as he places a filed hand on his friends shoulders. "My friend," Old Bird clicks his tongue, "I am old. We, all, are old. We have no others to teach."

Collectively, the group stalks off, leaving Old Bird in exasperation and frustration. Only Gray Voice remains, relaxing as he stands under Old Bird's gaze.

Old Bird stiffens, looking at the door as Samus, barely half the height of the Chozo beings, attempting to walk in. many of them stand against her, as she holds the rifle tightly trying to not panic as they towered past her, giving her no berth in the doorway. Their eyes judged her, pitied her, condemned her. "Samus!" The translator's voice drew her attention, and she trots up to Old Bird, stress lining the youthful face. Samus stops and goes around Gray Voice, noting the distance between the two Chozo. Old Bird steps away, "So, Samus, what would you wish to learn today? Or do you wish to continue the previous lesson?" Samus merely nods, still mute.

Samus joins Old Bird at a computer console, and takes point, attempting to use the operating system. Gray Voice watches her struggle to get to certain windows, realizing she's actively reading the Chozo language. Samus navigates through the pages, and points to the newly opened window.

"Ah, you wish to learn what the Chozo are currently doing in the Andromeda Nebula?" Old Bird reaches across the console and opens a map, continuing his lecture, "Well, the Galactic Federation has been looking to establish new colonies and are searching various locations, the Nebula is one such target. The amount of debris is ideal for mining operations-"

Gray Voice grabs Samus's rifle, carefully lifting the weapon and examining the casing. He ignores Samus's piercing eyes that watched him the entire way, mildly threatening posture and lack of breathe, Samus radiated hostility that betrayed her child form. Gray Voice's eyes swing between the two.

"Two months," muttered Gray Voice's translator. "Two months and you've done nothing to care for this device." Gray Voice turns away, Samus follows stiffly. "Stay with Old Bird, little one. Come after your lesson to the Tourian labs and I will show you how to properly care for this tool."

Gray Voice walks away, leaving Samus standing frozen in the center of the room. Old Bird, clears his throat, "You will get your weapon back, later. For now, let us focus on the lesson. Now where was I?"

Samus slowly returns back to the console besides Old Bird. She glances back, trepidation crawling across her skin, her eyes wide open.

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I'm trying to write stuff still. Editing is painful when you have no idea what you were trying to say in the first place. I'm not going to be able to publish those other chapters as soon as I wanted to, so I apologize. Still, I'll be trying to get stuff out faster.**


End file.
